July 12, 2010

I read it, and I wanted to cry. So I started drinking water quickly to push it down. It doesn’t really matter.

I know you loved me more than anything. You taught me that the only way to love is unconditionally. You explained so much. I argued even when I knew you were right because that is how I was. That is how I am. You told me your heart is on the left.

Too selfish, these tears. I’m thinking of Guadalajara and those classes. How much easier it was for me, how little I understood about everything. We drank everyday. We went to a club called Osiris on the last day of school and we danced, heavy with beer and tequila.

I can’t remember the name of the guy we traveled with afterward but I have photos. Our bus climbed twisted and scary roads until we were at the top of a grassy hill and the air was crisp and dry. It didn’t feel like Mexico until we saw the parade and la virgen held high on a wooden platform painted light blue and gold.

We stayed cheaply, all in the same room. There was cracked green tile everywhere and roaches in the shower. I remember the smell of sweat, fried gorditas at a stand, masa being rolled into tortillas. And over and under and through everything this thick unrelenting passion fueled by alcohol, grief and that painful, sharp need scraping the inside of my stomach. There was hunger motivating everything I did. And I missed daddy so much. That was there, too.

You couldn’t replace that love but you tried. I tried. I wanted everything. I wanted to fuck the guy we were traveling with. I wanted you totally and unconditionally and forever and I didn’t want to have to do anything.

We went on a trip with the rest of our class, somewhere on the coast where the mosquitoes were thick and children sold us pepinos with lime and chile through the bus windows. Drunk, you stood on the bed and sliced your back on the blades of the fan but you said it didn’t hurt. The mosquitoes never bit me. Your arms and legs were spotted and scabbed and bleeding. We found relief in that warm ocean. I never wanted to get out.

I still never want to get out.

Later or earlier, in another coastal town, we met that old ruddy gringo who had moved there. He found a local named Soledad and a little house with peeling paint and sandy grass in front. He spent his days catching and cooking fish over coals on the beach and drinking and staying in love with Soledad. There were pigs running wild on that beach. I have those photos, too.

I miss you so much right now. It’s only been twenty years. Like I miss drinking, or my father. Like a limb, or a ventricle.

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as she did in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. In short: she's a bad girl with a heart of gold.

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That Steam allows the objectification and sexualization of female characters in a variety of its games but refuses to accept a game about actually engaging with women in a more interactive fashion is astonishingly backward.

That the site doesn’t take measures to protect user content and has shown incompetence or negligence in regard to user privacy, all the while prohibiting victims from warning others about predatory behavior creates an environment where it is nearly impossible for members of the community to take care of themselves and one another. By enabling FetLife to continue espousing a code of silence, allowing the spinning self-created security issues as “attacks,” and not pointing out how disingenuous FetLife statements about safety are, we are allowing our community to become a breeding ground for exploitation.

Should people who benefit (parents, siblings, children, roommates!) from the earnings of “commercial sex acts” (any sexual conduct connected to the giving or receiving of something of value) be charged with human trafficking? Should someone who creates obscene material that is deemed “deviant” be charged as with human trafficking? Should someone who profits from obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should people transporting obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should a person who engages in sex with someone claiming to be above the age of consent or furnishing a fake ID to this effect be charged with human trafficking? What if I told you the sentences for that kind of conviction were eight, 14 or 20 years in prison, a fine not to exceed $500,000, and life as a registered sex offender?

If you are a woman, you might be given a chance to prove yourself in this community. Since there is no standard definition of what a “geek” is and it will vary from one judge to the next anyway, chances of failing are high (cake and grief counseling will be available after the conclusion of the test!). If you somehow manage to succeed, you’ll be tested again and again by anyone who encounters you until you manage to establish yourself like, say, Felicia Day. But even then, you’ll be questioned. As a woman, your whole existence within the geek community will be nothing but a series of tests — if you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky, you’ll be harassed and threatened and those within the culture will tacitly agree that you deserve it.

Zak’s original field, it turns out, is economics, a far cry from the hearts and teddy bears we imagine when we consider his nickname. But after performing experiments on generosity, Zak stumbled on the importance of trust in interactions, which led him, rather inevitably, to research about oxytocin. Oxytocin, you might remember, is a hormone that has been linked previously to bonding — between mothers and children primarily, but also between partners. What Zak has done is take the research a step further, arguing in his recent book, The Moral Molecule, that oxytocin plays a role in determining whether we are good or evil.

Let’s talk about the strippers. Whether they like to be half-naked or not, whether they enjoy turning you on or not, there’s one thing they all have in common: they’re working. Whether you think that taking one’s clothes off for money is a great choice of career is really beside the point (is it a possibility for you to make $500 per hour at your job without a law degree? Just asking). These women are providing fantasy, yes, but that is their job. And as a patron of the establishment where they work, you need to treat them like you would anyone else who provides a service to you.

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Sex and the 405 is what your newspaper would look like if it had a sex section.

Here you’ll find news about the latest research being conducted to figure out what drives desire, passion, and other sex habits; reviews of sex toys, porn and other sexy things; coverage of the latest sex-related news that have our mainstream media's panties up in a bunch; human interest pieces about sex and desire; interviews with people who love sex, or hate sex, or work in sex, or work to enable you to have better sex; opinion pieces that relate to sex and society; and the sex-related side of celebrity gossip. More...